


Of Wolves and Dragons

by deliciously_devient



Series: Death's Best Man [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch!McCree, M/M, Noodle Dragons, Werewolf Reyes, intercural sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-09 00:11:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10399305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciously_devient/pseuds/deliciously_devient
Summary: "What?" Death asks him, one eyebrow arched, and it takes a while for Jesse's giggles to subside.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my gosh, you guys, the response to this has been almost overwhelming! I'm glad everyone is enjoying it so much! Just a warning, this is NOT a McGenji main fic; they fool about a bit, but the end goal is McHanzo, with a little Genyatta on the side so. Sorry McGenji lovers!

It’s pure luck that Jesse is knocked unconscious during the first blast of flashbangs from the raiding force, and when he regains consciousness, it's to the wet tongue of Shiva. He shakes his head as he comes to, reaching to shove the dog away only to find his hands cuffed to the chair he’s in.

 

He isn’t sure how long he’s been here, but judging by the stiffness in his muscles, it’s been a while. He vaguely remembers being hit with a stray piece of wall as it blasted apart, but other than a bit of soreness, he doesn’t feel any pain, despite the dried blood Shiva is now licking at.

 

He notices the hound’s eyes are burning blue, meaning he’s currently the only one who can see him, and that means Jesse has an advantage over whoever’s caught him. The room he’s in is all concrete, with a flashing camera in one corner, and what he assumes is a two way mirror on one wall. He’s facing the door, and when he wiggles, he notes the chair is bolted to the ground, as are the cuffs attached to him.

 

He waits, then, with Shiva laying across his feet, a solid weight only he can feel. It feels like a couple hours before a man in a black beanie and flawlessly sculpted beard walks in, and Shiva growls softly.

 

Jesse figures out why when, after the man, a huge, incorporeal wolf walks in behind him. It’s so large half it’s body is phased through the wall, and Jesse presses back against his chair, heart suddenly pounding as he gets a good look at those sharp, slavering teeth.

 

The man tilts his head at Jesse, looks pointedly over his shoulder and what he perceives to be nothing, before arching an eyebrow. Jesse’s only seen them in the distance, running in wolf form over the desert, huge even from hundreds of feet away, and he swallows.

 

The man in front of him is a werewolf.

 

“I heard from your friends that you’re called McCree,” the man says, and his voice is a growl, and Jesse can hear the inhumanness behind the tone, the growl of the wolf that most others wouldn’t hear.

Jesse is silent, throat closed by fear. Even with Shiva at his feet, he’s scared, the stump of his arm aching where it meets the metal. This is the closest he’s ever been to a supernatural creature -barring Shiva- since he lost his arm, and he knew Death would come for him but he was hoping it’d be a little less...tear-aparty.

 

The man takes the other chair across from Jesse, setting a file of papers down, flipping it open and spreading out several pictures of higher ups from Deadlock’s rival gang, Eastbay. Jesse recognizes them all; he’d put a bullet in each of them.

 

“Now, my friends and I have been looking at Deadlock sideways for a while,” the man continues, uncaring that Jesse seems to be focused on the space just above his shoulder. “Getting a little too big, putting a few too many guns in the hands of people who shouldn’t have ‘em, too many drugs on the street. But we didn’t  _ really  _ get interested until we heard tell of a man -one man, mind you- that put twenty Eastbay ruffians in the grave with one gun and a twirl.”

 

“Eighteen,” Jesse croaks, licking his dry lips, finding his voice. He took his eyes off the wolf lounging beside the man, focusing on the dark eyes hiding a beast inside them instead. “It were only eighteen.”

 

The man huffs a laugh, and slaps a holovid interface on the table. A video pops up, and he recognizes it as one of those fancy eye-vids that are all the craze. It’s the old bar that Jesse and Eric and Tom and four other souls were sent to that day Jesse made a name for himself. He watches, in sick fascination, as he walks out of the bar, cocky as you please, and stand with a hip cocked.

 

“ _ Draw! _ ” The Jesse in the video shouts, and his eyes are caught by the camera, shining red with black schelera, and Jesse swallows. He’d never seen what happens to his eyes before then, and now he knows why so many men have scrambled away from him when he gets ready to shoot. He watches as his gun comes up, and then shoots, too fast, before he twirls it, reloads and finishes. The video doesn’t cut out there, but Jesse is out of sight now, the sky the only thing visible.

 

He hears his own voice again. “ _ You should know better’n to get in a firefight with Death. _ ”

 

“Now,” the man says, steepling his fingers in front of his mouth and staring Jesse down. “Usually I wouldn’t hesitate to throw someone like you in a hole for the rest of your natural born life. But,” here he pauses, sitting back and smirking like he holds all the cards. “Well, I think you’re something special, McCree.”

 

“Ain’t a hole in the world deep enough to keep me in, ‘less you put a bullet in my skull,” Jesse says, matter of factly. There’s no cockiness in his voice, or tone, and Shiva rumbles happily at his feet. “But I reckon someone as smart as you knows that, don’t ya, wolfman?”

 

For a second, the man looks thrown, his dark eyes going wide and his jaw dropping just a bit. But as quickly as it was there, it’s gone, and the man throws back his head and laughs. It’s a deep, rich sound, and it resounds in Jesse’s chest, makes warmth rumble through him. Shiva wags his tail, thumping quietly against the ground.

 

“Oh, I like you, Cowboy. You’ll fit in here just fine.”

 

***

 

Reyes’ words soon proved to be true -and wasn’t that a fucking trip, that he was fighting alongside  _ Gabriel Reyes,  _ the man that had led Overwatch through the Omnic Crisis?- and he found himself slotting into place here better than he ever had with Deadlock.

 

Weeks bled into months bled into a year before he was even sure how much time had passed, and he was being sent on more and more important missions. His skill with guns was unparalleled, it didn’t matter what sort of gun you placed in his hands. Despite being good with a hand gun -so good, in fact, that the other recruits in his year would mutter he had to have some kind of enhancement- he found himself more and more drafted on missions that required a sniper.

 

And while he preferred to be in the thick of the action, hauling his comrades out of danger and showing everyone exactly how good he was at fanning a hammer of an “outdated revolver” there was a certain thrill to the stillness of a sniper's nest, eyes peering through a scope as he waited, sometimes for hours, for a mark to appear.

 

On occasion, when he’d been still for hours, just staring through the scope of his rifle as he waited for a drug lord or a human trafficker or some other bottom of the barrel scum he’d been told to eliminate, he would feel breath on his ear, smell the scent of the desert in it, and a soft voice that had first spoken to him on a moonlit night at a crossroads. The voice would always say the same thing.

 

“ _ Bring them to me. _ ”

 

After the third time this happens, Jesse asks for a few days leave. He flies out from base back to the States, back to a place he thought he’d never willingly return to. That part of his life was over now, but. 

 

But.

 

He’d planned it perfectly, and just as the clock ticked over to midnight, he was stepping out of his plain black sedan, a nice rental he’d gotten in Santa Fe. The streets were cleaner than he remembered, the people a little fatter, and he felt a small amount of price in Overwatch, in Blackwatch. They’d done good here.

 

He waits, as the moon travels across the sky, sitting on the hood of his rental and watching it’s progress. It’s cold, but he’s wearing his nano-fiber uniform, and he doesn’t really feel it. The air seems to get colder, suddenly, and the scent of the desert at midday fills his nostrils.

 

“Jesse McCree,” says the man, suddenly lounging on the hood next to Jesse. Almost two years of having Shiva do the same thing to him -appear out of nowhere, that is- make it so he doesn’t flinch, but his heart does speed up a bit. “It sure has been a while. What brings you back?”

 

“Got some questions, is all,” Jesse replies with a slow grin. He flicks open a pack of cigarettes, and offers one to the man. He takes one,  brings it to his lips, and doesn’t take the lighter Jesse offers. The cowboy lights the flame, and despite not being able to really make out the man’s features, he can tell he smirks.

 

“I might have some answers, then,” the man says, grinning.

 

Jesse lights his own cigarette, taking a deep drag and watching the smoke coil this way and that, huffing a laugh when the man next to him blows a smoke ring, that morphs into a little cat, chasing his smoke puffs through the air. They smoke in silence for a few moments, Jesse simply enjoying the company of someone he knows has no expectations of him. There’s no mission, no bad guys, no creepy eldritch monsters hiding under his commanding officer's bed.

 

“Who are you?” he asks after a while, watching the stars climb across the sky.

 

The man takes a deep drag, finishing off his cigarette before flicking it away, a little comet in the darkness before it hits the ground and the last ember of its life is snuffed out.

 

“You know the answer to that question,” the man says slowly. 

 

“You’re Death himself,” he replies, voicing the suspicion he’s had since that fateful night three years ago.

 

Death touches his finger to his nose and winks. “Got it in one, Cowboy.”

 

Jesse offers the man another cigarette, and then lights it for him again, before digging around for his own, inhaling deeply before he guffaws loudly.

 

“What?” Death asks him, one eyebrow arched, and it takes a while for Jesse’s giggles to subside.

 

“Just, just. Death  _ smokes, _ it’s like the worst anti-tobacco add,” he says, and after a moment of silence, Death starts laughing. It’s a honeyed sound, soothing, like the laughter of his mother from faded away memories.

 

There’s silence again, and Death blows more smoke animals, making them roam around them in a playful dance.

 

“Why do you talk to me? Before I kill people?” Jesse asks when they’ve finished their cigarettes.

 

Death is silent for so long, Jesse thinks he isn’t going to answer -and that would be fair, as Jesse’s not so arrogant as to think he deserves answers from a being like  _ Death.  _

 

“You remind me of Jessibel,” he murmurs after a while. “She’s always been a bleeding heart, always bore the weight of guilt on her shoulders for killing people that needed killing. That’s what got her killed this time around, and so many times before.”

 

“Whatya mean by that?” Jesse asks, confused.

 

“She’s been reincarnated so many times, I think she’s older than me,” Death says back, taking another cigarette from the pack lying on the cool hood between them. “She coulda killed those guys that killed her. A year before she died, she had the opportunity to kill them, the whole pack, that were involved in a child trafficking ring. But she only killed the leaders, let them live as an act of mercy. And look what it got her.”

 

Jesse’s silent, sensing a deep, seething anger and sadness coming from the man next to him. He figures Death doesn’t have many people willing to listen to him, so he’s quiet, waiting for him to get it out.

 

“I figure, if I talk to you enough, that you won’t feel as guilty, doing the killing that needs doing,” Death says after a moment, and Jesse nods, satisfied with the answer. If he’s honest, knowing that Death himself is waiting for the souls he delivers….it does ease the weight of what he does, a bit.

 

Between one moment and the next, he’s alone in the cold desert. He stays out there for a long moment, watching the moon set and the light of the stars glimmer more brightly. He finishes his last cigarette, closes his eyes and listens to the quiet thump of dragon wings and distant howls of hellhounds.

 

He wonders what it says about him that those sounds lull him to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years after joining Blackwatch, Jesse meets Genji Shimada and nearly shits his pants.

Two years after joining up with Blackwatch, Jesse meets Genji Shimada and almost shits his pants.

 

Because behind the man’s gleaming cyborg body is an absolutely massive transparent dragon, hovering over Genji’s shoulder like the cyborg is its hoard. What’s worse is that it  _ notices Jesse looking,  _ and apparently decides that means it can toy with him.

Jesse’s trying to keep his attention on the mission briefing, he really is; but the dragon has decided to coil its massive body around the conference table, and it’s massive head is right by Jesse’s face and it sticks out its tongue, pretending to lick at Jesse and he  _ whimpers,  _ heart thudding a rapid tattoo in his chest and making his palms sweat.

 

He’s  _ terrified,  _ and the dragon is  _ laughing  _ at him.

 

It takes a good hour, but eventually the dragon gets bored tormenting Jesse, and returns to curl up near Genji where it seems content to bask near him, eyes closed and tongue sticking out slightly. It’s kind of cute, and he finds his eyes going back to it again and again.

 

Of course, he didn’t realize that, in staring at the dragon -which, he noticed, matched the cyborgs coloring in green and silver tones- it seemed as though he was staring at Genji. So, after the briefing, he found himself in a side hall with two hundred something pounds of angry ninja in his face, pinning him against the wall.

 

“Do you have a  _ problem _ , cowboy?” Genji snarled, and though there was no telling what was behind the man’s visor, Jesse had seen enough faces twisted in rage to guess.

 

“N-no, no problem partner, I swear,” he said, gulping. The dragon, watching lazily from behind Genji, made a noise like laughing.

 

“Then why do you stare so? Did your mother never teach you it is rude?” the ninja continued, his grip on Jesse not letting up.

 

“Your dragon is laughing at me,” Jesse blurted, a mix of fear and arousal loosening his tongue, and he felt himself flushing. He closed his eyes, the heat of his cheeks rising steadily as he wondered why now, of  _ all  _ times, his dumb mouth had to run away from him.

 

Genji is silent for a long moment, his head tilting to the side, and Jesse silently wishes for a hole to open up and swallow him. Maybe he could convince that eldritch monster to eat him.

 

“My...dragon. Is laughing. At you,” Genji says slowly, voice monotone. Jesse can’t tell if there’s skepticism in his voice or not; he’s doing a good impression of an omnic.

 

In for a penny, in for a pound, Jesse thinks. “Yeah. It’s a right terror. I thought it was a real one until I saw it go through the wall,” Jesse muttered.

 

_ “Soba,”  _ the dragon rumbles, and Jesse frowns at it.  _ “My name, Cowboy. It is Soba.” _

 

“Ah,” Jesse says, shifting uncomfortably with Genji’s grip. “It says it’s name is Soba?”

 

Abruptly, Genji drops him, and Jesse scrambles for purchase with the sudden absence of Genji’s support barely managing to keep himself upright.

 

“You can see Soba?” he demands, and Jesse nods, once, swallowing at the hint of desperation in Genji’s voice. “She has not left me?”

 

_ “I will never leave. It is his own grief keeping me from him,”  _ the dragon -Soba- says, a deep sadness to her voice.

 

“Uh,” Jesse says, shuffling awkwardly. He feels like an interloper, spying on a private moment. “She says your grief is keepin’ her away. She ain’t gonna leave.”

 

Genji is silent for a long moment, and Jesse wishes he could see through the visor, see the expression he knows is there. 

 

“Thank you,” Genji murmurs softly, and then he’s gone, faster than Jesse can blink.

 

***

 

He and Genji end up being an incredibly effective team, and together, they pick apart the Shimada-gumi. It takes nearly a year of covert ops, but they finally storm the castle; Genji is intent on a rematch with his brother, and has said as much to Jesse.

 

“I want him to suffer,” he had admitted late at night a few weeks before the op. “I looked up to my brother for a long time, and then, when our father praised his skill and devotion, and never mine, I grew resentful. I want him to know that my skill has always been equal to his, that he was  _ wrong.  _ I want to strike him down as he struck me.”

 

Jesse had said nothing, only clasping his friend on the shoulder once, and murmured an assurance to watch his back.

 

Now here they are, in the heart of Shimada castle, where the bossman resides. Jesse thinks the gray haired man that jumped up at their arrival, sword gripped clumsily -and Jesse knows it is clumsy, because he’s seen Genji wield his sword like a second limb- is a little old to be Genji’s brother.

 

“Where is he?”? Genji roars, brandishing his own blade at the man, and Jesse’s suspicion is confirmed. “Where is Hanzo?”

 

“Gone,” the man says, lifting his chin, almost defiantly. “He disgraced the clan, and dishonored us when he left.”

 

Genji makes a noise, then, almost like the roar of a dragon, and he dashes forward, cutting the man cleanly in half. 

 

Jesse sees skulls flickering throughout the castle, red and green respectively, and he knows Genji is not sated.

 

When the night is over, they’re both covered in blood and bruises, and Genji is still keyed up as they return to base.

 

He pulls Jesse into his room, and there’s a click and a hiss, and suddenly the helmet Genji wears is gone, and for the first time he gets to see his eyes, deep and brown and filled with desperation. Before he can really get a good look at the face he’s never seen before, chapped lips are pressing against his, desperation almost palpable.

 

Jesse freezes for a moment, but he hops on board quickly, wrapping both arms around Genji’s trim waist and pulling him close, letting the other man’s tongue into his mouth, groaning as he felt hands roaming over his ass, kneading.

 

“I’ve wanted this,” Genji groans against his hips, tugging off Jesse’s belt, peppering kisses along the cowboy’s throat as he arches it for him, gasping when teeth bite down, gently, on his jugular.

 

“Yeah?” Jesse groans, breathless as he helps the man get his pants and shirt off, body bared before assessing brown eyes, and Genji’s smirk is just as devlish as Jesse always thought it would be.

 

“You’ve got an awful nice ass, Cowboy,” the ninja says with a grin, pushing Jesse down on the bed. He watches with fascination as Genji discards bits of armor, revealing patches of flesh that Jesse has never seen before, drinking it all in hungrily like a man dying of thirst.

 

“You got a nice everythin’, partner,” Jesse rumbles as Genji clicks off his groin plate, revealing his cock, just starting to chub up and already a respectable length and girth.

 

He straddles Jesse’s lap, grinding their erections together and taking Jesse’s mouth in a biting kiss. Jesse finds himself arching, kissing back desperately; he wants this to last, but he’s been lusting after Genji for a while now, and even though he feels like he might not get this again, he’s hurtling towards his peek at an alarming rate.

 

Genji seems to be on the same page, taking both their cocks in hand and grinding against Jesse like it’s his  _ job. _ Jesse makes the mistake of glancing up at Genji as his hips buck up, getting a good look at the man’s face twisted in pleasure, mouth open in a silent scream as he paints Jesse’s chest with his seed, neck bared and eyes closed as he takes what he wants.

 

Jesse is helpless against the sight, arching and digging his fingers into Genji’s hips, shuddering through his own orgasm with a pained grunt.

 

He pulls Genji against him after, uncaring of their sticky stomachs, pressing insistent kisses against Genji’s mouth until the ninja is laughing, eyes sparkling with mischief, and Jesse thinks he might be a little in love.

 

Soba chooses that moment to rise up from the floor, making Jesse scream and fall off the narrow bed, the sound of the dragon and Genji’s laughter ringing in his ears. 


End file.
